


Ichabod

by AKO



Category: Star Trek AU - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-28
Packaged: 2019-08-07 03:08:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16400201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AKO/pseuds/AKO
Summary: Inspired by art by Darthmael, and based on the Sleepy Hollow story.





	1. Harvest

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Illogically Halloween](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/426485) by Darthmael. 



> Several years ago, a friend shared an incredible art work done by Darthmael. It immediately brought "Sleepy Hollow" to mind. I said, "Somebody needs to write a story for this picture!
> 
> And then I was told since it was my big idea, I had to be the one to write it!
> 
> I have four chapters, and I have been tossing around the idea of writing a fifth. Let me know if I should!

Ichabod Spock cleaned the blackboard, shoveled the ashes out of the stove, and laid the wood for the morning fire.  He picked up the detritus from the students, swept the schoolroom, and closed the shutters on all the windows.  Then he packed up his teaching supplies for the long walk home.

 

Summer was definitely over.  Most of the trees had lost their leaves, and the late afternoon winds were getting quite chilly.  He pulled the lapels of his coat closer to his throat, and reminded himself to look for his knitted muffler.  He couldn’t tolerate the cold as well as most people, and he was vulnerable to ague.

 

With each plod of his boots, he reviewed his lesson plans for the next day.  A one-room schoolhouse didn’t offer a wide range of free-thinking, and some of his students were rather slow in grasping the basic fundamentals.  Ichabod sighed.  He had had great dreams of being a scholar, someone who spent his days in huge University libraries, poring over books to write eloquent research theses which would be discussed by old men drinking port while sitting in leather chairs.  Instead, he was teaching snot-nosed brats how to make the ABCs on their slates without screeching the chalk.

 

Only two more miles until he reached home.  Well, what passed for home these days, a roster of homes in the community where he would obtain room and board for a month on a rotating basis.  For this period, he had a room in the house of bachelor, Hans Van Ripper; a man of simple means, with little education and no interest in stimulating conversation.  It was a bed and food, and Ichabod was grateful, but he anticipated his next accommodation, and hoped it would be more to his liking. 

 

His mind drifted, and now he had something pleasant to focus upon during this journey.  Katrina Van Kirk, fair of face, sweet disposition, and amusing company.  Even the dour Ichabod Spock had to smile when he thought of her.  They had been sharing a hymnal at Sunday services for weeks now, and occasionally Ichabod would walk her home.  Once at the Van Kirk estate, he would be invited to Sunday supper, and become enveloped in the charm and hospitality of the host, Baltus James Van Kirk.  Katrina’s father was the richest landowner in all of Terry Town, well-educated, and a world traveler.  He owned most of the property in Sleepy Hollow and either rented it out or farmed it himself.  The Sunday dining table groaned under a surfeit of good food, and Ichabod always did justice to his plate.  Aftewards, he and Van Kirk would retire to the parlor to sit in front of the fire, drinking brandy and talking politics.  Katrina would settle on a bench under the window and do her needlepoint.  It was fine domesticity, and Ichabod craved it for himself.

 

Ichabod refused to allow Brom Bones to intrude into what he considered to be his territory.

 

Brom Bones was loud, brash, and rude.  His farm was of a decent acreage, although nowhere near the expanse owned by Van Kirk, and he made a good living from it.  Yet he was not gentry as Van Kirk, or as Ichabod considered himself.  Ichabod Spock felt that Bones needed to look for a brood wife, one who would tend to the chickens, spin and weave, and pop out a baby every year, squalling and red-faced.  Katrina was not of that fashion.  She was to be adored and pampered, covered in lace and frippery, and she deserved a husband who could take her for fine carriage rides and read her poetry on cold winter evenings.

 

In the small farm house where he roomed, Ichabod dined alone on tea and toast, and then warmed several bricks to take to his bed.  There was nothing to do, really, but sleep.  And dream of his rightful place in the Van Kirk estate, where his education and breeding would be coddled.

 

At the same time, Bones worked his farm chores, and thought of Katrina.  When he was first introduced to her, he misunderstood her name and called her “Miss Tonia.”  She giggled like a young girl behind her hand, and blushed so prettily.  Since then, whenever they were alone, he called her by that name.  He bent over backwards to arrange his day so he could coincidentally appear wherever she was.  Tuesdays were the post office, Wednesdays were the sewing circle at church, and Fridays were for the sing alongs in the Town Hall.  That skinny teacher had managed to make a standing date with Katrina every Friday, but Bones was there, too, usually seated in the row behind them, or off to the side.  He’d catch Katrina’s eye and whisper, “Miss Tonia,” just to see her giggle and blush, and also to see that dullard, Spock, arch his back and stiffen like a pike.

 

Bones would ride his horse behind their buggy when Spock drove Katrina home.  He found that annoying Spock was almost as pleasurable as flirting with Katrina.

 

All of Sleepy Hollow knew of the rivalry, and enjoyed watching the battle for Katrina’s affections play out in the community.  There was truly little entertainment in that day and age, and people everywhere paid great attention to the business of others.  Gossip with friends and neighbors was considered to be “sharing the news” and eagerly anticipated by all.  Some sided with Ichabod Spock, for the same reasons he felt completely entitled to court Katrina.  He was the local version of an educated man, and he would have the knowledge to manage the Van Kirk estates after the passing of Baltus Van Kirk.  Others felt Ichabod was an outsider, and Katrina should find her interest in a fellow resident of Sleepy Hollow, Brom Bones.

 

All Hallow’s Eve fell on a Friday that year.  The harvest was over, and crops had been plentiful.  The residents of Terry Town were jubilant, and rightfully so.  Baltus Van Kirk had increased his accounts by a record amount, and he decided to celebrate with largesse.  A great party at the Van Kirk estate was announced, and the entire community was invited.  A neighbor came to the schoolhouse that afternoon to extend the invitation to the teacher, and he immediately accepted.

 

School was dismissed early, so Ichabod could hustle to his room to prepare.  He performed his ablutions in a basin of cold well water, shivering so hard he almost sliced his throat with the straight razor.  But anticipation drove him forward, and he dressed in his only suit.  The bachelor farmer with whom he stayed wanted no part of the evening festivities.  He was content to merely remove his heavy boots and warm his feet by the fire before retiring to bed.  Ichabod borrowed a plowhorse for his transportation, with the unlikely name of “Gunpowder.”

 

Every window in the Van Kirk manse was blazing with light when Ichabod arrived, and the sounds of laughter and music filled the night air.  The moon was already above the horizon and the early frost sparkled in its light.  Ichabod tied the horse to the fence, and went inside.  Katrina was with Bones, eating party tidbits from the same plate, and her giggles stabbed Ichabod’s heart.  His rightful place was being usurped by an uneducated boor who shoveled shit!  He tried to work his way to Katrina’s side, but Baltus Van Kirk grabbed his arm.

 

“Friend Ichabod!  Come, join us at the table!  We have all your favorite meats, and I know how you enjoy the cakes!  I also brought out a bottle of my fine brandy, and the menfolk are sharing a glass with me now.  Please, Ichabod!  Let us toast the bountiful harvest of this year!”

 

Distracted with food and brandy, Spock gathered with many of the farmers and completely forgot about his anger with Bones.  He heaped his plate high with good victuals, and he soon found himself listening to not only the bragging of crop size and yields, but also with local legends of ghosts and hauntings.  He gave audience to the latter with great delight, yet dismissed them to the others because an educated man simply does not hold credence in such nonsense.

 

The party wound to a close, and people began gathering their wraps and taking their leave.  Ichabod spotted Bones, and remembered his anger from earlier in the evening.  It flared brighter than ever before, because the rival had an arm around Katrina’s waist, and she apparently allowed the liberty of Bones’s touch.  Hot words were exchanged, and Ichabod stormed from the house, climbing on old Gunpowder for the lonely ride back to his solitary bed.

 

As he approached the supposedly haunted stream, a dark rider appeared from nowhere and taunted him with not a single word being said.  The overhanging trees prevented a clear view, so Ichabod pressed onward, eager to get away to warmth and security.  Once free from the shadows, he could only see an obscure figure on a huge horse.  Urging Gunpowder for more speed, the other horse not only kept pace but overtook him.  As it came abreast of Ichabod, he saw that the dark rider was headless!  And on the saddle in front of the strange horseman was a pumpkin.  The horse reared, and laughter echoed through the trees.  Ichabod pulled Gunpowder to even more speed and raced down the road.

 

The next day, a shattered pumpkin was found near the haunted stream.  The aging plowhorse, without saddle or rider, butted against the gate at Farmer Van Ripper’s entry.  There was no sign of Ichabod, anywhere.

 

Brom Bones appeared at the Van Kirk estates early that same Saturday morning, with his wagon.  Katrina slipped out the door to meet him, and they travelled to the next town where they were married at the parsonage by the minister.

 

Ichabod Spock was gone, no trace of him.  There was no coat, no body, not even a drop of blood.  Brom Bones ensconced himself as head of the Van Kirk household by his marriage to Katrina, and although the local constable made an attempt to investigate the strange happenings, there was no evidence anywhere of foul play.

 

 


	2. Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened after Baltus Van Kirk's party?

Ichabod collapsed across the top of Gunpowder’s back, shaking in terror.  He had no idea what had gone on back at the haunted river, it all happened so quickly.  The cold night air penetrated to the very marrow of his bones, and his entire body felt like strings stretched so tightly they would snap apart and cut flesh if pulled any further.

 

A wagon clattered down the road and stopped.  He didn’t know who the driver was, and he cared not at all.  This horrible night could not end soon enough.

 

“Friend Ichabod.”

 

Spock snapped up straight into the saddle, and almost fell to the ground.  Gentle hands helped him from the horse and led him to the wagon.

 

Baltus James Van Kirk climbed up to hold the reins again.  “Come with me.”  He held out his arm and Ichabod clambered up to the wagon seat next to him.  “It’s so cold tonight,” Van Kirk murmured, and threw several lap robes over Ichabod’s shoulders.

 

The moonlight highlighted Van Kirk’s features as he drove the wagon down the road, racing away from Tarry Town, Sleepy Hollow, haunted tales, gossiping neighbors, and hopeless lives with no path but to maintain the same everlasting circles of toil and boredom.  Van Kirk drove with a purpose, and Ichabod could only keep his dark eyes fastened to this man, and follow wherever he led.

 

Deep violet streaks painted the indigo night sky with the promise of morning, and the stars were winking shut to sleep until the next sunset.  The silence began to rustle and murmur as the land around them prepared to awaken to another day.  The sun eventually peeked over the horizon, the shadows skittered away and the frost yielded to the growing warmth.  Ichabod had briefly dozed, and soon opened his eyes to focus their unfathomable blackness on Van Kirk.

 

There were no obstacles, no other traffic on this road yet.  Van Kirk dropped the reins, let the horses lead, and he turned to Ichabod.

 

The hands were roughened from a lifetime of hard work, and almost icy from holding the reins all night.  Van Kirk placed them on each side of Ichabod’s face and pushed them back to thread through the hair at the base of his neck.  “Tell me I am wrong.  Tell me I misread you.”  The indescribably-colored eyes sunk into the bottomless darkness of Ichabod’s eyes.  “But I know I have not.”

 

Van Kirk kissed Ichabod.  It was a touch of questions, of seeking, of longing, and of such piercing vulnerability.  He reluctantly pulled away.  “Am I wrong, Friend Ichabod?”

 

Ichabod threw himself at Van Kirk, and pressed upon him an answering kiss that removed any doubt that either of them could ever possess again.  When the kiss broke away, Ichabod buried his forehead in the warmth of Van Kirk’s neck and shuddered.

 

He knew he’d never be cold, ever again.

 

“No.  You were not wrong.”

 

“Sleepy Hollow has nothing for us.”  Van Kirk arranged the laprobes around both of them, and they sat on the wagon seat, arms holding each other close.  “I overheard Brom planning with Katrina at the party.  They are probably married by now, that is fine.  He can worry now about the taxes, the spring planting, the intractable tenants, the dying livestock, I don’t care any more.  I have my money coffers with me here, we shall want for nothing.”

 

Van Kirk looked back at Ichabod again.  ‘You will stay with me.  Please.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I want you with me, like I have never wanted anything else, in my entire life.”

 

Ichabod’s answer was a searing kiss.

 

“I suppose it was Brom, last night, near the haunted river.”

 

Hooded eyes glanced at Ichabod, and a slow smile played across Van Kirk’s face.  “Brom is not that skilled a rider, Ichabod.”  Turning completely around in the wagon seat, Van Kirk grabbed a corner of the tarp covering the wagon cargo area.  He yanked it back to reveal a load of pumpkins.

 

Gales of laughter echoed down the road, laughter that rang out identical to the teasing, taunting laughter supposedly expressed by the headless horseman.

 

Ichabod sucked the laughter out of Van Kirk’s very lungs with a punishing, controlling kiss.  Then he softly chuckled, and brought the lap robes around the two of them again.

 

And they talked of New York, and beyond.

 


	3. Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kirk and Spock learn about each other.

"I do not care for my name.”

 

There were still miles ahead before they would reach New York City.  Ichabod had placed his life, his future, his existence into the care of Baltus, yet they knew so little of each other.  That they were together and free from the constraints and expectations of Sleepy Hollow became their all, and they yearned to know each detail of the other’s life.  So the miles passed under the hooves of the horses pulling the wagon and they shared bits and pieces to pass the time.

 

Van Kirk looked at Ichabod, his eyes studying each feature of the face of the person who now meant more to him than his own life.  “Why?” he whispered.

 

“I carry the shame of my parents.  My mother ran away to be with my father; she returned home to give birth.  She bled to death giving me life.”  Ichabod looked to the distance.  “Her family never allowed my father to see me.  I was given their last name, even though my parents had been married.  And my grandsire painted me with his complete disregard for my very existence by naming me ‘Ichabod.’”

 

Pain-filled eyes latched onto Van Kirk’s face.  “It is Hebrew, and it means  _he who has no glory_.”  The eyes turned back to the landscape.  “I was a tangible symbol of all they had lost, and I was made to know my worthlessness from the very beginning.”

 

Van Kirk wept.

 

“When I turned one-and-twenty, I was contacted by a solicitor, who had been hired by my father.  He told me my rightful surname, Spock, and presented me with enough funds for my education.  My father was also dead, but he cared enough to right the wrong done to me by his beloved’s family.”

 

The two men faced each other on the wagon seat.  “We are starting our lives anew, correct?’

 

Van Kirk grasped his friend’s hand tightly in his own.  “Yes.  Anew, and together.”

 

“I am Spock.”

 

“It suits you.  I greet you, Friend Spock.”  He raised their two hands to his lips and kissed them.  “I, too, wish a fresh start.  I bring no baggage, no past, no obstruction between the two of us.  I am now James Kirk, but you may call me Jim.”

 

They stopped at an inn for a midday meal, while the horses were fed and watered.  The talk between them had always been easy, and now the words simply flowed.  At other times, they enjoyed a companionable silence.  It was comfortable between them, as if it had always had been, and always would be.

 

Late that afternoon, Jim Kirk broached a delicate subject.  “Friend Spock.  Of course you know, I was married.  My wife has been dead these many years, and I’ve been alone since.”  Spock merely nodded.  Kirk cleared his throat.  “Have you ever…I mean…I am sure you have, especially when you were at University, surely you have been with …women?”

 

“I have availed myself of that opportunity…occasionally.”

 

The shadows were lengthening as the day grew to a close, yet there was still enough light for Kirk’s blush to be evident.  “Have you ever…with a man?”

 

“No.”

 

Kirk sighed.  “Nor have I.  We sail in uncharted waters, then.”

 

“It would appear so.”

 

“I mean no distress to you, Friend Spock.  Would you rather…”

 

Spock answered with a crushing kiss.

 

“We both want it.”

 

“More than I want my next breath.”

 

“Spock, I do not understand this.  I have no knowledge of what this is between us.  But I know, with all that I am, all that I hope to be, this is right.  And it will be good.”

 

“As long as we are together, it will always be good.”

 


	4. Good

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They are together, and it is good!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * * *
> 
> Credit for the amazing picture of Leonard Nimoy is to the movie "Catlow."
> 
> * * * *

They arrived in New York City, near the major harbor, a few days later.  The remainder of the trip had been relatively chaste, save for fervent kisses and shy touching.  They mostly talked, and through the words grew even closer, both reveling in this creation that was a world for them alone.

 

Jim Kirk was the seasoned traveler, and he had been to this city many times in the past.  Within a short period, he’d sold the wagon, horses, and even the pumpkins, and found them a rooming house where people minded their own.

 

“It is not the finest hotel, Spock, and I shall always, always want to give you only the best.  But it is clean, quiet, and we will not be disturbed.”

 

Spock reached out with those long, elegant fingers and ghosted them along the planes of Kirk’s face.  “Jim.”

 

“Come along.  Let us share a meal, and then there will be hot baths, clean sheets, and a night just for us.”

 

# # #

# # #

 

Spock luxuriated, probably for the first time in his life.  The tub was not big enough for him to stretch out completely, but a bathing tub of that size probably had never been created.  The buckets of water had been almost boiling, and the heat leeched the pain, the misery, the dread, the fear, and the abject loneliness he had accumulated throughout his entire life.  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  That part of his life, that miserable being known as “Ichabod” was no more.  “Ichabod” now swirled with the road grime and the sweat in the midst of the soapsuds floating on the surface of the water, and would be discarded with the slop buckets into the gutters outside.

 

The lye soap was harsh, and contained no fancy perfumes, but Spock welcomed the cleansing as he prepared himself for what was to come.  He closed his eyes, and tried to calm himself.  Yet the water lapped and splashed as his hands shook while he scrubbed himself intimately yet again.

 

A chill broke his reverie, as the door opened, and quickly closed.  Spock felt the gooseflesh cover his body, and he draped the washrag as best he could over his nakedness.

 

“Spock.”

 

A sigh of relief.  It was Jim, returned.

 

Kirk came over and knelt next to the tub.  Their eyes met and held.  “Did you miss me?”

 

A soapy hand touched golden curls.  “Yes.”

 

Kirk stood and threw his greatcoat to the table.  He posed resplendent before Spock, garbed in finery Spock had never seen before.  “I did errands, spent a little money.  Bathed myself while I was out, and the traveling clothes were simply too soiled to wear again.”

 

 

“I have not the words to describe you.”

 

A look of compassion graced Kirk’s face.  “I want you to wear finery, also, dear Spock.”  He grabbed a towel and held it extended.  “Join me?”

 

As he wrapped the towel around the body of the man who would soon be his, Kirk enveloped him in an embrace that spoke only of tenderness, for now.  They each breathed in each others’ scent, and molded their bodies to fit so close they became as one being.

 

Kirk broke away first.  “I have a few purchases.”  He set a bottle of wine and two glasses on the table next to the bed, and pulled a small package from his pocket.

 

“I did…research, Spock.”  Kirk’s eyes fell into the unfathomable deepness of Spock’s intense gaze.  “We both of us are…unschooled.  I wanted to know.  I wanted to be prepared.  I want it  _right_  between us.”

 

“Yes.”  The velvet baritone rumbling just that one word made Kirk shiver.

 

Looking out the window, Kirk exhaled sharply, and talked too fast.  “I went to one of the ‘ladies’ by the docks.  I explained about the two of us.  She gave me…information…and handed me this.”  He pointed to the package on the table.  Kirk wisely omitted the raw language and rude remarks the woman had added to her instructions.

 

“And that is…””

 

“Goose grease.”

 

Awareness dawned, and Spock blushed so thoroughly, his entire body was a ruddy red.  He recalled his thorough cleansing, and he ducked his head and blushed even more.

 

Kirk thought the sight so endearing, he felt as if his heart would explode with affection.

 

New clothes and towel were rapidly discarded, and they were at last naked together on the bed.  Neither one had ever experienced anything so glorious as the complete toes-to-face skin-to-skin contact.  There weren’t enough hands, there weren’t enough kisses to touch, to feel, to explore and to savor this new, exciting world where only they lived.

 

Spock stiffened and cried out, then rolled to the far edge of the bed and curled into himself.

 

“Are you hurt?  What is wrong?  Please…”

 

“I am shamed.  Pardon me, I beg forgiveness.”

 

“No, wait, what?  Why?”  Kirk had to be forceful to make Spock roll back to face him.  “What is it?”

 

“I…you can tell what I did.  I …too soon, selfish, I was wrong.”

 

“No!”  Kirk grabbed Spock’s face and made him look at Kirk.  “There is no blame here.  It is impossible for you to do anything wrong.  I will not let those horrible people who raised you take one more moment from your life, Spock.  Right now, right here, this is only for the two of us.  We make it right, we make it good, and it has no shame, no fear.  Do you understand me?”

 

Spock ducked his head and nodded.

 

“Look at me.”  Their eyes met again.  “Just you.  Just me.  We make it good.”

 

With all the sweetness of the world, Spock touched his lips to Kirk’s.  He pulled back just a fraction and murmured, “I love you.”

 

Kirk smiled that special, gentle smile.  “I know.  And I love you.”

 

And it was good.  So very good.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * * * *
> 
> Do you want a fifth chapter?
> 
> Please, pretty please, let me know!
> 
> * * * *


	5. Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The end of their journey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! Major character death. Please take comfort in the fact they are together!

Spock was propped almost completely upright in bed, with pillows mounded behind his back. His dark hair was glued to his forehead, and his nightshirt was stained with sweat. Another paroxysm of coughing racked his body, and he spit a glob of nasty into the rag in his hand.

Kirk rushed into the bedroom.  “Dearest One, are you all right?”  He took the befouled rag, and tossed it next to the bed.

Spock smiled at his beloved.  Sometimes it seemed Kirk suffered more than he did with this terrible ailment.  He tried to reach up to touch Kirk’s face.

Kirk grabbed his hand, held it tightly, and placed it back on the coverlet.  “Don’t reach, my darling. It only makes the coughing worse.” He held a cup of tea to Spock’s lips and encouraged him to drink, even if it was only a few sips.

They had sailed the tropical seas in a great brigantine purchased with some of the Baltus Van Kirk monies. It was a great adventure in the import-export business, flavored with a bit of smuggling.  Spock had taken a chill when an unexpected Nor’eastern tossed them about in a frigid storm, and he never could shake the residual cough. The ship was sold at a handsome profit, and London was deemed too cold and damp for Spock’s health.

Upon the advice of several medical authorities, they traveled to Paris. The great University boasted a modern medical school, with the latest advancements in science applied to the healing arts.  They settled in, making the rounds of various professors during the day, and participating in the many soirees in the evening.

As Spock’s health deteriorated, he stayed home abed, and Kirk attended the parties.  Always, always, Kirk was searching for any information pertaining to Spock. The foods and the wines were excellent, as well.  Kirk often brought home tidbits to share, for Spock grew thinner by the day.

Kirk tried to hide his desperation. He began to revisit the professors and other learned men of medicine they had seen upon their arrival, months ago. He paid them veritable ransoms to get them to come to their home, so Spock would not have to venture outside.

The most recent visit had been the most depressing.  The scholar examined Spock, listened to the symptoms, crossed his arms, and nodded his head.  Then he removed his glasses and accepted the flagon of wine Kirk handed him.

“There isn’t anything new since I last saw you, Spock.  And I have nothing new or miraculous to offer you. Sometimes we physicians try to spare the patients from an actual diagnosis, for sometimes to know is not helpful.  Monsieur Kirk desires a cure, Monsieur Spock.”

The doctor sat heavily on the nearby chair, and looked away.  With a sigh, he faced Spock again. “It is consumption. I am so sorry.”

A cry escaped Kirk, and he covered his face with his hands.  Spock leaned back against the pillows, closed his eyes, and nodded.

“You both knew.”

Spock nodded again, but didn’t open his eyes.

  
  


Kirk fell to his knees in front of the doctor, and grabbed his hand.  The tears ran down his face. “What can we do? Surely, surely, there must be something, anything.  I have money…”

“Money is not the answer, Monsieur.  As well you know. The only thing we can offer is comfort.  I have heard the area around Barcelona, Spain, is a good climate for consumptives, but I have no idea as to whether or not Monsieur Spock could withstand the travel. It is hot and dry there, fairly temperate year round, and the air is much cleaner than London or even Paris.”  At this, the doctor shuddered. “The summer miasma in Paris is dreadful.

“As to comfort, good food, rest, and laudanum for the coughing and pain.”  He barely tasted his wine before putting on his hat and greatcoat. “I bid you both good day.  And again, I am so sorry.”

Spock knew Kirk was overwhelmed with emotion, and he had no strength to be supportive.  He feigned sleep, to allow Kirk to slip into the next room, where Spock knew he’d grieve. The screaming and smashing of furniture against the walls proved this to be true.

# # #

The following Spring, as soon as the first hot day arrived, a sumptuous carriage was loaded with the well-bundled and -wrapped litter holding Spock. The doctors had provided soporifics, and Kirk intended to keep him asleep for the entire journey. Sea travel was determined to be not only the fastest, but most comfortable to people of their means.

The journey to Barcelona took its toll, and Kirk prayed desperately to the God he didn’t really believe in for a chance to recover any of Spock’s strength.  They found a home on a hill overlooking the Great Sea, with a veranda and large windows to catch sweet smelling breezes. A capable doctor was hired, a woman found to cook and clean, and it was peaceful.

With hot summer days, plentiful good food and rich Spanish wine, slowly Spock stopped the slide down the slippery path of mortality. Kirk found many like-minded men in their community, and they had learned visitors stopping by to share heated debates and entertaining discussions.  Kirk argued, Spock was content to listen with a half smile on his face. 

The days, then the weeks, and finally the months passed, and they were together. Kirk was a good fifteen years older than Spock, and he was grateful for each moment, for he originally had thought Spock would outlive him by many, many years. Their first dreams together had been of travel and exploration; now they were content to see magnificent sunrises and watch flowers bloom from their bedroom window.

These days, the doctor came for Kirk’s care as well as Spock’s.  Kirk’s delight in rich French foods and sauces, fine wines, and the plentiful seafoods and shellfish had cursed him with gout, and he was barely able to hobble from room to room. He even dipped into Spock’s laudanum stores to overcome the pain so he could sleep at night.

Recently, he had started coughing, and he was terrified that the consumption was now savaging his lungs.  The doctor examined and listened, and then sat back in his chair.

“No, Señor Kirk, you do not have consumption. Your sickness is in your heart, not your lungs, although it does affect your lungs.”  He pulled the coverlet back from Kirk’s legs and poked one. A dimple remained in the puffy skin. “See this? You have too much water in your body.  This is dropsy. Your heart cannot move the blood like it did when you were a young man.”

“What can I do,” Kirk wheezed.

With gentleness, for they had selected this particular man of medicine for his extreme compassion and kindness, he pulled the coverlet back in place.

“No meats.  No fish, especially fish of the shell.  No wines. Good soups, fresh fruit, occasional thin porridge for breaking your fast.  Oh, and no egg.”

Kirk’s sadness was palpable. No sauces, no souffles, no desserts!

“Your gout would improve, as well. Then, perhaps, you can resume your little walks.”

The angry, swollen joints in his feet testified that it had been quite some time since Kirk walked along the pretty streets, greeting everyone by name.

Kirk worried about Spock.  His biggest fear was that he would pass first, and Spock would be sick and alone.  Sometimes sleep escaped him at night, while horrible scenes occupied his mind of Spock suffering in his own mess, with no one to care at all.  His weakened heart pounded and his head throbbed with the terrible thoughts.

Spock, too, was tortured with dismal visions, of Kirk awakening one morning to find Spock’s cold, dead body next to him. He gave serious consideration to taking too much laudanum, just to end everything.  Then he entertained suggesting to Jim they both overdose together.

Kirk was angrier than Spock had ever seen him when he tried to broach the subject.

Without any planning, the end came soon enough.  One afternoon, Spock sat straighter in bed as a coughing paroxysm shook his frail bones. Kirk was next to him, and put his arm around Spock’s shoulders in comfort. Spock’s hand came away from his mouth, and they both saw the red.

“Oh,” Kirk cried. He held Spock tighter, and the coughing spasm continued even as Spock was losing strength. The blood dripped from the corner of his mouth.

“Jim,” he whispered.

“Oh, Spock, not yet.  Please don’t go, don’t leave me.” Kirk cried, and tried to hold Spock tighter. The flood of emotion caused Kirk’s breathing to increase, and he, too, began to cough. His coughing became faster and faster, as Spock’s became slower and slower.

Spock collapsed against Kirk, and Kirk’s coughing sobs produced great gobs of foam from his mouth, and soon he started choking. His overburdened heart beat one more time, then ceased.

They were found by the housekeeper, who notified their friends.

They lived, they loved, and they died as they wished: together.

Their friends buried them in a single grave, with a plain stone marked only with “KS.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. I'm sorry if anyone was disturbed by the ending, but while the outcome was inevitable, I wanted it to reflect the time in which they lived, and I wanted it to be in a way that they would have approved.


End file.
